


Dragon Age prompt fills

by tevivinter



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Caretaking, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fist Fights, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Minor Canonical Character(s), Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Protectiveness, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:02:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 11,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22757470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tevivinter/pseuds/tevivinter
Summary: A compilation of writing prompts featuring my OCs, their LIs and friendships. I wrote most of these for DWC!
Relationships: Female Aeducan/Zevran Arainai, Female Hawke & Varric Tethras, Fenris/Female Hawke, Fenris/Hawke (Dragon Age), Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus, Male Lavellan/Dorian Pavus, Zevran Arainai/Warden
Kudos: 9





	1. Dust floating in golden sunlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Marel x Dorian]  
> In which Dorian gets hurt during a battle and Marel takes care of him after.

_“Vhenan?”_ **  
**

A familiar voice made Dorian open his eyes at once despite the overwhelming brightness around him. The first thing he saw was Marel sitting next to him at the edge of the bed. He slowly became aware of his surroundings, faded memories starting to slip back together just like pieces of a puzzle. There had been a fight against mercenaries, but he couldn’t recall anything past that point.

“Where are we?” Dorian asked, voice hoarse with sleep.

“Back to Redcliffe,” Marel answered. He glanced down for a moment before taking Dorian’s hand into his own. “How are you feeling?”

Dorian propped himself against the pillows behind him. They were inside a common tavern room which contained only one bed and a wooden table next to the wall. Beams of light filled the bedroom through closed windows, revealing tiny speckles of dust floating in the air. At least the mattress was quite large and surprisingly comfortable, that is, if compared to tavern rooms in general.

His thoughts were soon interrupted by a sharp jolt of pain. Dorian winced in response, feeling as if someone had just hammered a nail at the back of his head. “My head hurts. A lot.” He used his free hand to rub his temple, also feeling an uncomfortable ache in there.

Coming to think of it, his _whole_ body felt sore. _“Kaffas,”_ Dorian cursed _._

Marel still looked at him attentively, golden eyes filled with concern. “That’s usually what happens when you get hit by a weapon’s blunt end. Among other things.”

Dorian looked at the elf once again, trying to find some sort of distraction from the pain. So that was the reason why he blacked out - it also explained the cursed headache. “How long was I out?“

"Long enough for this stew to get cold,” Marel indicated a bowl on the table with his head. “I brought this to you some hours ago.”

Dorian couldn’t help twisting his nose once he saw what was inside of it. Uneven slices of beef and potatoes floated on a thick green kind of broth. It smelled of onions mixed with vinegar and Maker knows what else. Not that it surprised him — they were in Redcliffe after all — but that thing was just depressing.

“As much as I appreciate you nursing me, I’m definitely not hungry right now.”

“It doesn’t taste as bad as it looks,” Marel argued, noticing the way Dorian raised one skeptical brow. “What?”

“Was that supposed to encourage me?” Dorian glanced at the stew again. “I doubt this _thing_ will help me get any better.”

He expected Marel to roll his eyes in response, but instead the elf simply shrugged. “Fine,” Marel said before leaning back against the wooden headboard. “Then you’ll need to rest more. We’re not leaving this place otherwise.”

Dorian sighed. “I’m fine, _amatus_. We have more important matters to attend.”

He knew it, deep down, that his condition wasn’t the best at the moment. A few more hours of rest would hopefully be enough to cure that damned headache and everything else. Still, he didn’t want to be a burden for Marel. The fact that he spent hours just watching over him… it made his chest feel heavy with guilt. It would be selfish to demand more rest when Marel could be literally saving the world. Dorian was too distracted with his own thoughts to notice the elf sighing as well.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” Marel mumbled, voice lower than before. Dorian couldn’t help but glance at him, feeling a light squeeze on his hand. “I don’t give a damn about anything else right now,” he continued. “I just want you to be okay. _Then_ we can move on and do whatever we need to do.”

Dorian parted his lips only to close them again shortly after. They had been together for quite a while now, but moments such as this one — when he simply _knew_ just how much Marel cared — still surprised him sometimes. He never expected to find someone who would love and put him first, let alone someone as important as the Inquisitor himself. It simply felt too good to be real.

He took a small moment to properly look at Marel. Dark red hair blended perfectly with the sunlight, warm tones making it look brighter and almost fiery in a hypnotizing sort of way. Dorian’s gaze followed the contrast between the intricate lines of his vallaslin and the sharpness of his scars, admiring each and all of these marks placed on his honey skin. He was beautiful, yellow eyes looking like sunrise itself, and Dorian was utterly lost at the sight of him.

“You must have hit your head pretty hard,“ the elf said with a puzzled look on his face. "You rarely go speechless like that.”

Dorian chuckled. “You’re terribly oblivious, _amatus_.”

He didn’t wait for an answer before leaning closer and kissing him. Dorian allowed himself to enjoy that brief moment of peace by closing his eyes and touching the side of Marel’s face. Marel welcomed him — he always did — and Dorian noticed how his shoulders soon loosened with the contact. Their kiss was slow and soft, lips brushing against each other’s as if they had all the time in the world.

They parted when Dorian suddenly winced in pain, rubbing his temple while muttering a curse. Marel arranged the pillows behind them and leaned back. “Come here. Get some rest.”

Dorian gave in with a sigh. There wasn’t much to do besides resting his head on Marel’s shoulder. “I suppose I can stay here a little longer,” he muttered. Marel slid one arm around his waist and pulled him into a half-hug. A few moments of silence went by before he spoke again. “Marel?”

“Hm?”

“You don’t _have_ to stay here as well. Not that I’m complaining, of course, but you can leave if you wish to.”

Marel was quick to dismiss the thought. “Nah. I’m staying. Besides,” his lips curved into a playful smile, “someone needs to make sure you eat that stew.”

Dorian groaned in disapproval and Marel couldn’t help chuckling at him.


	2. Braiding hair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Darya x Zevran]  
> Darya needs to get ready for her Warden Commander nomination ceremony. Zevran gladly helps her out.

Skilled fingers ran through her hair as if reciting a well-known dance. It was soothing, the way Zevran lightly pulled some strands together while separating unwanted ones. A quiet sigh escaped Darya’s lips, her shoulders loosening down in response to the heavenly sensation.

She was no stranger to getting her hair done. Back in Orzammar, she had servants who were willing to make intricate hairdos at her whim. As much as she enjoyed to be served, her hair was an exception — Darya liked her strands wavy as they were, usually going for ponytails or something equally simple. Intricate hairstyles were mostly reserved for special occasions. Therefore, she could almost count the amount of times in which her servants groomed her hair.

All of them paled in comparison to Zevran. Saying that he was good with his hands was a serious understatement. He made sure to be gentle, deft hands working on strands while also aiming to please. She noticed, at times, that he caressed her scalp as if performing a massage. _No one_ ever did her hair like this. It should be an ordinary task, and yet Zevran managed to turn that into something else - something to make her relax.

Darya was completely _entranced_ by his motions, head falling back slightly as Zevran took his time with the braid. It was damn right hypnotizing and it would be so easy to fall altogether if she wasn’t already sitting on a stool. 

“Enjoying yourself, I see?” He asked, amusement filling his words. Darya could almost hear his smirk.

She hummed in response, eyes still closed. “I am seriously considering a delay in my nomination ceremony.”

Zevran chuckled. “That would be unfortunate.” His hands fell on Darya’s shoulders after a moment. Then he looked at the mirror just ahead, pleased with the outcome of her braids. “People would fail to see just how dashing their new Warden Commander looks like.”

It was disappointing to know that Zevran was already done, even though he didn’t rush anything. Darya opened her eyes and stared right back at her reflection. A four-strand braid began at the top of her head, carefully weaved in order to look appealing but also steady. It was essentially a low ponytail — and a damn beautiful one that she would never attempt to do on her own.

“Consider me impressed,” she raised one brow, eyes roaming over her reflection as she tilted her head to the side. “I thought you offered to help me as an excuse to spend some time together. Turns out you _actually_ did something,” she teased.

That was a legit surprise considering that Darya never asked such thing of him before. Zevran leaned down for a moment, hands still resting on her shoulders. He kissed Darya’s cheek before whispering close to her ear. “You should know by now that I’m a man of many talents, _amor_.”

Her smirk grew wider at that. “Full of surprises, aren’t you.” Darya stood up and turned so that she faced Zevran instead of the mirror. She took his hand into her own, recalling how those fingers worked through her hair. It made her mind wander elsewhere. “Once we’re done, there’s a chance I’ll get your other talents to good use,” she suggested.

Zevran chuckled, seeming to enjoy that thought. He entwined their fingers together and glanced at the door. “Then we’d better head to the ceremony, no?”


	3. Grumpy hug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Marel x Dorian]  
> Dorian's Walking Bomb spell can make a real mess sometimes.

The last thing Dorian needed was a demon _exploding_ near him. Thanks to the Walking Bomb spell, his clothes were now tinted by a dark, almost pitch-black splatter of blood. Even his hair got sticky with it in some spots, adding to the previous wetness caused by the rain. Dorian was certain that he looked — and smelled — just like a wet Mabari after a disgusting fight. What a wonderful day indeed.

Going to the Fallow Mire was already enough reason to make him grouchy all day long. Now? It was like the Maker himself wanted to make things worse just to annoy him. Dorian could almost hear a laugh coming from above, specially with Bull and Sera making fun of his situation. They had been doing that for a few minutes now.

Bull glanced at him while they walked. “You should consider adding demon blood to your looks, Vint,” he joked.

Sera snorted. “At least you still got breeches, right? Gonna need new ones, though.”

Dorian rolled his eyes. It was no use trying to brush off the excess of blood from his robes. “What I do need is a two-hour bath,” he grumbled. That made Marel chuckle, and so Dorian’s irritated gaze shifted towards him. “Yes, laugh at my misery, by all means.”

“I’m not.” The elf slowed his pace to better continue their conversation. Bull and Sera continued walking ahead as they talked about something else. “It’s just funny to see you like that,” he shrugged. “I’m usually the one who gets fucked up after all.”

A dry chuckle came out of Dorian’s lips. “So you’re laughing at my terrible looks.”

“ _Vhenan_.” Marel lightly pulled the mage’s hand so that both of them stopped moving for a moment. He stared at Dorian’s grey eyes, not minding the fact that the rain also turned his eyeliner into a smudge. “You’d still look pretty even if you were covered by shit.”

Dorian raised his brows in a questioning way. “Your flattery falls somewhere in between amusing and horrifying, you know that?”

Marel couldn’t help but chuckle. “It sounded better in my head. Anyway,” this time he pulled Dorian into a half hug. “You look good. You always do.” There wasn’t much time to waste, so that hug needed to be a short one. Still, Dorian enjoyed it for as long as it lasted until Marel placed a quick kiss on his cheek and stepped back.

That moment allowed Dorian to feel a little less grumpy for the next few hours.


	4. Blood at the corner of your mouth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Marel x Dorian]  
> Someone talks shit about Dorian. Marel gets furious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my favorite prompt fills ever. I hope you enjoy <3

“Someone like _him_ shouldn’t be here.”

Marel’s ears twitched slightly upon hearing that comment. Dozens of conversations happened simultaneously at the Herald’s Rest, but this one in particular caught his interest. The voice came from a couple tables behind them. Marel lowered the mug from his lips, paying more attention as the man continued to speak.

 _“Lower your voice,”_ another man whispered. “The Inquisitor is here. He might hear you.”

The first man scoffed, disgust clear in his words. “I don’t give a shit. He should know better than to mingle with that shitty Tevinter.”

“Uh-oh,” Varric said from the other side of the table upon noticing Marel’s tightened fist. He knew the elf well enough to identify when his patience was running short - not that it was a difficult thing to do.

Dorian rolled his eyes. He was already used to being insulted in the South for pretty much any reason, all of them always connected to some _‘evil magister’_ concept. Frankly, he didn’t have the time to argue with drunk men. Not when he had better things to do at least.

“Don’t bother yourself with that, _amatus_.” Sitting right next to Marel, Dorian placed one hand at his stiffened shoulder. “These men are hardly worth our time.”

Marel tried his very best to take a deep breath, unable to ease the sound of heartbeats thumping inside his chest. He still held the mug with one hand, the other one resting on the table. “They are talking shit about you, Dorian.”

As if hearing their conversation, the man continued.

“Besides, what would he do?” His voice became increasingly higher, drawing the attention of other tables nearby. People started to look at him with curiosity. “I doubt the mighty Inquisitor could fight me; he’s too busy fucking the Tevinter after all.”

The whole tavern went silent after that.

Marel slammed the mug on the table with a loud thump. He stood up at once, fully realizing that everyone’s eyes were on him now. Everyone except for that man, who continued to drink as if nothing had happened. He didn’t move a muscle even when Marel’s shadow hovered at him, fists clenched together and voice sharp as steel.

“Say that to my fucking face.”

The man finally turned to face him, lips twisted into an arrogant smirk. He stood up calmly and stared at Marel, unafraid of the molten anger glaring right back at him. His broad shoulders were almost a match for Bull’s and he was at least a couple inches taller than the elf - who was already six feet tall.

“I told ya, Jack.” He glanced at his partner, who swallowed nervously at the situation. “I was sure the Inquisitor would defend that Tevinter piece of sh-”

A solid punch to the gut kept him from finishing that sentence. The man gasped, his surprised expression quickly turning to anger before he lunged at Marel.

The silence was soon replaced by the sound of people cheering at their fight. Most of them stood up to watch as Marel and the man fought near the center of the tavern. Dorian did so as well, a worried frown taking over his face. _Southerners_ , he thought, noticing the overall excitement over a stupid fist fight. Bull chuckled and took a sip from his ale.

“No need to worry about Boss.” For someone who looked so entertained by the fight, Bull’s analysis was surprisingly accurate. “The man is large, but lacks footwork. This will be over real soon.” He shrugged.

“Careful, Sparkler.” Varric smirked with an amused tone. “If you keep staring at him like that, there’s a good chance you’ll dig a hole into his head.”

Only then Dorian realized that he was barely blinking, too absorbed by the scene. He grunted and crossed his arms defensively before glancing at his companions. “Won’t both of you just shut up?”

The crowd booed when a punch struck the side of Marel’s face, strong enough to almost make him to lose balance. Dorian quickly looked back at him, a string of Tevene curses running through his mind. He would never understand why Marel was so eager to protect him, not only in real battles but also in stupid fights such as this one. No matter the situation, the elf wouldn’t think _twice_ before standing up to him.

Dorian loved and hated him for it.

Marel felt the hot taste of iron in his mouth. Adrenaline rushed through his veins as he waited for the next blow, and when the man ran straight at him, his lips twisted into a victorious smirk. That fight was _over_.

Two punches - that’s what it took for the man to fall on his kness, breathless and groaning. The severe pain on his left side indicated at least one broken rib.

 _“Fuck!”_ He hissed through gritted teeth.

Marel grabbed the human by his collar. Unspoken rage still burned inside his golden eyes - it made his voice sound dangerously low. “Disrespect us again and I’m throwing you off this fucking castle myself.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, simply because there was no need for it. The man grunted and cursed silently, his partner soon appearing to help once they were done. Marel walked away from the tavern without looking back. Even if he wanted to continue drinking with his friends, his presence alone would cause people to gossip and glance at him after what happened. 

And he definitely wasn’t in the mood to deal with that.

Marel took a deep breath once he reached the stone railings on the upper courtyard. It didn’t take long before he could hear the sound footsteps approaching him.

“You certainly know how to make a dramatic exit.” Dorian’s comment made the elf smile a little. He strolled closer. "Are you alright, _amatus_?”

Marel felt the light touch of Dorian’s hand on his shoulder. “Yeah.” He tilted his head to meet the mage’s gaze after a short moment of silence. “Just tired, I guess.”

Dorian crossed his arms and leaned back against the railing. He searched for injuries on Marel’s face only to notice a thin stripe of blood at the corner of his mouth. It was drying out already, but the punch that caused it would certainly leave a bruise on his cheek.

“What?” Marel asked, noticing the thoughtful look on Dorian’s face.

“You started a fistfight because of me,” Dorian stated. “I’m honestly torn on whether to be honored or angry at you.”

Marel shrugged. “I don’t regret any of it.”

“Why?”

“Isn’t that obvious?” Marel took a step closer to Dorian. His anger had completely vanished at that point, replaced by a warm feeling of care that softened his frown. He brushed his fingers lightly against Dorian’s cheek. “I won’t let anyone talk shit about you. I don’t care where or when.”

There was that look on his face – raw fierceness mixed with determination. Most people knew that look and they couldn’t tell the difference between Marel and the imposing Inquisitor figure. They only saw his warrior side, the harsh part of him that appeared on a daily basis.

What they _didn’t_ see was his caring side. The man who would do anything to protect his loved ones, the passion that burned deep inside his eyes. Few were able to see Marel as a whole, and Dorian felt extremely lucky to be one of them.

The mage finally sighed. “You’re an impossibly infuriating man, did you know that?”

Marel smirked, running his thumb up and down Dorian’s cheek. If anything, he looked entertained by Dorian’s frustration. “You’re always saying that. What else?”

“And you never listen to me.” Despite his scolding, he couldn’t help but notice how Marel slowly closed the distance between them, faces only a few inches away from each other. Dorian uncrossed his arms to wipe away the blood from Marel’s chin. Fingers hovered over the elf’s bruised knuckles and caressed them dearly, a smile slowly spreading across his face. “…Though I admit that was quite the show.”

Marel gave him a quiet laugh, eyes glancing at Dorian’s lips. “I thought you were angry at me,” he breathed.

And he _was_. Still, Dorian decided to answer with a kiss so that none of them would be able to talk. Not that Marel would complain about that - his smile actually grew wider when Dorian pulled him into a hug. They would have plenty of time to argue later.

For now, Dorian just wanted to kiss that silly, irritating and _beautiful_ smile away from his pretty face.


	5. First hug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Marel x Dorian]  
> Marel has a terrible vision caused by a horror spell. He's determined to find Dorian as soon as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one happens before their relationship, so early pavellan for you all!

Marel hated fighting mages.

He hated to dodge fireballs, to watch out for mines on the ground. It meant being careful about his surroundings, so he couldn’t rush into the enemies like he normally did. It was difficult, sometimes, to spot the right moment to strike. Mages were full of tricks, most of which he didn’t understand simply because magic was out of his expertise.

The worst, however, were mind control spells.

They were fighting a group of Venatori when it happened. Marel was just a few feet away from one of them, already picturing the perfect swing of his greatsword— until magic pinned his feet to the ground. Marel struggled, gritting his teeth while trying to break through the spell. It didn’t work, and before he could attempt to do anything else, visions started to flood into his mind.

He had been afflicted by horror spells before. None of them felt so _real_ like this one.

Marel looked back at his companions only to see them falling one by one. More Venatori appeared out of nowhere, cornering the small group in the blink of an eye. He was forced to watch as a torrent of spells washed over the battlefield. A strong lightning chain caused both Varric and Bull to fall, and Marel struggled tirelessly against the magic holding him still. Despair took over when he saw Dorian alone.

The fact that Dorian even tried to put on a fight, that he refused to go down without trying— it was too much. Marel screamed for them to stop, breathless, tears gathering in his eyes while his friend was killed right before him—

“Hey, Boss? Are you okay?”

As if awakening from a nightmare, Marel blinked. He was back to the beginning of it, body laying underneath a tree, away from the dead bodies. Still, Marel could hear the drumming sound of his own heartbeats. “I’m fine,” he grunted. “What the fuck happened?”

“You blacked out for a few minutes,” Bull said, his back leaned against the tree. “Some crazy-ass Vint tried to kill you. I killed him first,” he shrugged.

So that was indeed a horror spell of sorts. Marel nodded, his thoughts quickly drifting back to Dorian. Everything seemed to be fine, but he needed to see him with his own eyes just to make sure of it. “I’ll go find Dorian.”

The elf’s legs seemed to move on their own. Marel felt his throat going dry with anticipation as he paced restlessly around the area. That vision made him realize just how much he worried about Dorian. As brief as it was, the thought of losing his friend was absolutely terrifying— yet he didn’t feel the same when Bull and Varric died. Marel worried about them as well, just clearly not _that_ much.

He stopped walking immediately.

Dorian knelt beside a dead body as he picked up some notes from it. He knit his brow in a familiar way while reading one of them - the same look he wore while trying to come up with a conclusion. Despite his focus, the distant sound of Marel’s footsteps made him look at his direction.

“Ah, you’re here! I gathered some useful information.” Dorian stood up and walked towards him, shuffling the papers together in the meantime. Concentration kept him from noticing how Marel simply froze at his sight. “There seems to be a hidden message in here,” he explained, pointing his finger at some excerpt.

_Dorian was alive._

“I’ll look further into it once-” Dorian barely had the time to think before arms closed around him.

Silence lingered between them for a moment. Marel held him tightly, letting out a shaky breath once he finally allowed himself to relax his shoulders. Being a bit taller than Dorian, the elf leaned down slightly in order to rest his chin on his shoulder. It was a self-explanatory hug, caring yet terrified.

Dorian hugged him back slowly, concerned about what might have happened. The fact that he could feel Marel’s arms tremble a little made him even more worried. “What happened?” He asked in a low voice.

“I thought-” The elf took a deep breath to avoid stammering. Tears gathered in his eyes, and though he managed to blink them back, his voice became hoarse. “I thought you were dead,” he whispered. “I heard you screaming and I- _shit_ , I couldn’t do anything.”

Everything made sense now. Marel held him almost in a desperate way, like he had just woken up from a nightmare. Such raw display of emotion left Dorian in a strange place. He knew that Marel had no reservations about his feelings, still, he could tell that the elf was _truly_ afraid to lose him. No friend had ever treated him with such importance before.

“A horror spell,” Dorian broke the silence, trying to keep his mind from wandering so. “I can assure you that I’m alright… Though you’re making it a little hard to breathe.”

“Shit.” Marel took a step back, just realizing how badly he squeezed the other man into his arms. “Sorry,” he mumbled, embarrassed by his own lack of self-control.

Dorian chuckled. “It’s fine. I could get used to that,” he joked, crossing his arms next.

Marel rolled his eyes. Still, the thought of hugging Dorian again made his face burn. “Funny. Come on, let’s get to the camp.”

Marel made sure to walk ahead in order to hide his embarrassment. He would be lying if he said that he didn’t enjoy it. If only for a moment, holding Dorian gave him an unexpected feeling of peace.

Maybe they could get used to it. Someday, perhaps.


	6. Comfort hug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Marel x Dorian]  
> Marel has a difficult time dealing with his post-trespasser condition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavy angst below.

One of Marel’s beliefs was that he would always be able to fight.  
  
His fearlessness in battle was a product of that. The sheer certainty of victory always drove him forward, taking away any possible hesitation in his mind. Marel simply _knew_ that he was born to be a warrior. It was a part of him that no one could take away.

And so he didn’t worry too much about the loss of his arm. It wouldn’t be enough to shake that belief, to make him second guess his own abilities. Adjusting to life with only one arm was hard, yet somehow he _wanted_ to believe that fighting would still be the same.

He wouldn’t know what to do if it wasn’t.

Two weeks had passed since Bull chopped the anchor off of him. The healers made him spent the first days mostly in bed. It was a slow recovery due to the amount of blood loss, not to mention other injuries ranging from small to severe. Marel began to walk shortly after, sometimes even ignoring the healers’ orders to stay put. 

He waited, however, for the right time to pick his weapon again. He needed to know that his body was fully capable to attempt that. The certainty of fighting once more was what held him together during these days. What made him go forward.

Marel looked at the greatsword hanging in the stone wall of his bedroom. It stood still for weeks now, serving as a motivation to recover faster. He took a step closer to it, feeling his heart beat faster with anticipation. It was time.

The sword felt strangely heavy on his hand. Marel swallowed, muscles unconsciously tightening as he tried to get used to that. Holding a weapon with both hands was already a second nature to him, and not being able to do so was mildly terrifying. It was like taking a step into the darkness, where things were not so certain anymore. 

Marel breathed in an attempt to ignore the rising panic in his chest. Swinging the sword wasn’t much of a problem, except that his movements were stiff. He paced around the fireplace, slowly trying to build a rythm, but finding balance was an extremely hard task. No matter how much he tried, the swings never came out like he envisioned.

The worst part was knowing every mistake. He _knew_ that the blade should slash higher in the air, that it should move faster to deal sharp and lethal cuts. All of these motions were crystal clear in his mind after years of training. He knew how to land the proper blows, how to bend his body and move his feet to keep the momentum - and yet the more Marel tried to make things right, the clearer it became that he _couldn’t_.

The sound of quick breaths filled the room. The elf looked down to his stump, fingers loosening as the sword fell on the floor with a loud clank. Realization struck him harder than a punch to the gut; it sucked the air out of his lungs, and even though there wasn’t any physical pain, it still _hurt_. A different kind of ache consumed his very soul, followed by a wave of helplessness too strong to resist. 

_He was no longer a warrior._

Marel fell on his knees. Tears burned the back of his eyes, flooding his thoughts into oblivion. The floor felt cold against his clenched fist, and his body bent forward as broken sobs came out of his chest. Everything faded into nothingness for a while. For the first time ever, he wasn’t so sure anymore. He felt useless.

The world around him became distant. Cold. Marel kept his eyes shut, suffocated by the weight of his own emotions. Giving up shouldn’t be an option. It was shameful to do so, and yet he wasn’t strong enough - not like that. The past years left several tiny cracks in his soul, piling up to reach the verge of a breaking point, but somehow he managed to keep it together. 

Losing one arm was the last straw to shatter him into pieces. Marel remained there, alone, drowning in an endless sea of despair. Reality didn’t matter when it felt like a nightmare. He embraced the void, allowing himself to be lost, sinking deeper and deeper into the darkness. 

_Amatus._

Marel’s heart clenched a little upon hearing that word. It brought warmth to his chest, a sensation of belonging he so badly desired. Still he covered his face, too aware of his miserable state to even look Dorian in the eyes.

“Go away, Dorian.” His words were a weak plea, barely leaving his throat. It hurt to say them out loud, to send him away. “You can’t help me,” Marel continued, tears flowing down his face. “I’m- useless. So do yourself a favor and-”

Arms closed around him. The elf gasped, opening his eyes in surprise after noticing that Dorian sat next to him - and how tight his embrace was. Marel could sense a similar kind of sorrow in the way his muscles stiffened. “Don’t say that, _amatus_.” Fingers caressed his red hair repeatedly in soothing motions. “You’re far from useless.”

As much as Marel needed to hear these words, the last thing he wanted was to bring Dorian down with him. He deserved so much better - someone who wasn’t a failure in the first place. Marel remained still, resisting the urge to hug him back but lacking the strength to push him away. He took a deep, shaky breath, still not able to make eye contact. “ _Vhenan_ , please…”

One more request, and yet Dorian didn’t relent. He seemed determined to not let Marel suffer alone. “Let me be here for you. Please.”

The elf sighed again, this time feeling relief instead of pain. The realization that Dorian wouldn’t leave made him lean closer to rest his chin on the mage’s shoulder. Marel swallowed when the tears finally stopped. He held onto Dorian silently, feeling glad to have him by his side.


	7. Hug with a kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Marel x Dorian]  
> Dorian helps Marel by doing his makeup.

Marel remained still on his chair. Several diplomatic meetings were scheduled for that morning, which tempted his mind to think of a million excuses to just stay in bed. The only thing stopping him from doing so (other than Josephine’s inevitable scolding) was his own request. He had asked Dorian to do his makeup - more specifically, to cover his black eye. 

They had been at it for a while now.

“Can I open my eyes?” Marel asked after a brief moment of silence.

“Not yet, _amatus_.” Dorian started to apply kohl on the elf’s bruised eye. He sighed, taking care not to mess everything up. “It would be easier if you had a small bruise. What did that brute do to you, anyway?”

Marel shrugged lightly, trying to remain as still as possible despite feeling ticklish from Dorian’s motions. He wasn’t used to wearing makeup, and while it wasn’t his first time doing so, every brush stroke still felt foreign on his skin. “Bull and I were training like any other day. It was just an accident.”

Dorian huffed, disapproval ringing in his words. “Keep saying that and next time you might _actually_ lose an eye.” There wasn’t much time for scolding, however, as he took a step back to analyze the elf’s features. “You can open them now.”

Marel couldn’t help but to feel curious once he saw the puzzled expression on Dorian’s face. He didn’t know whether it was good or bad. “What’s that look?”

“Just a little more powder,” the mage concluded, almost as if speaking to himself. Once more Marel felt the soft powder puff tapping on his face. Dorian backed away again, this time nodding in approval. He seemed to be quite satisfied with his own work. “Yes. Now you are good to go.”

“Can I see it?” Marel stood up after Dorian fetched him a mirror.

He blinked twice upon seeing his own reflection. Golden eyes stared back at him in surprise, both of them perfectly lined with kohl. What’s more impressive is that the bruise was barely visible now. Marel tilted his head, noticing how his skin looked smoother overall. Whatever Dorian did to him, it was certainly more than expected - he even took care not to conceal his vallaslin in the process.

“This- was more than I asked.” Marel mumbled, guilt suddenly taking place in his conscience. He put the mirror aside and glanced back at the other man. “You didn’t need to go through all that work.”

“Nonsense. It was a rather simple favor, _amatus_.” Dorian bragged, dismissing that thought away. “Besides - I’m not one to do half-assed jobs, as you can see.”

Marel shook his head, a knowing smirk forming on his lips. Of _course_ he would say that. “Showoff.” The elf moved closer to wrap his arms around Dorian’s waist, holding him dearly. His chin rested comfortably on the human’s shoulder. It wasn’t long before he closed eyes, lips softly pressing on his neck. “Thank you, _vhenan_.”

His arms were strong, hard and lean muscles fit for a warrior, and yet they felt soft around Dorian. Warm. It was the kind of embrace that made them melt and forget the world for a little while.


	8. This was a mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Lucinda x Fenris]  
> Lucinda is gravely injured and Fenris feels guilty for that.

Silence filled the room in a haunting way. Fenris was used to it after spending so much time in the run. It was one of the reasons why he chose to stay in his mansion. The stillness in the air made him feel safe, for it was easier to prevent incoming attacks. Even the slightest noise was easier to hear when everything else was silent.

Today was different, though. Fenris was striving to hear something - more especifically, Lucinda’s voice. She had spent most of the day in her bed, too exhausted to even open her eyes. There were several injuries in her body, some worse than others, but most of them were covered by bandages. Her breathing was so weak that sometimes Fenris didn’t know whether she was alive at all.

He had never seen her like this, and now silence seemed to haunt him with regret. Fenris swallowed, guilt taking over his conscience as he hopelessly watched Lucinda. His own actions led her to the brink of death. How stupid of him to suggest a single combat with the Arishok. If it wasn’t for his words, she would be alright. She would be…

Fenris clenched his jaw. Not once had he left Lucinda’s side since they brought her back home. It felt terribly powerless, however, to just sit there and do nothing but _watch_. It was a different kind of torture.

He reached out for her hand, holding it carefully.

“I apologize.” His voice came out raspy. It felt pathetic to ask for forgiveness now, especially when she couldn’t hear. Fenris took a deep sigh, feeling the bitter taste of regret on his tongue. “This was a mistake. I… shouldn’t have interfered.”

As expected, Lucinda didn’t wake up. She remained still as a statue. Fenris looked down, quietly brushing his thumb over her palm. Of course she wouldn’t listen, given the state she was in.

Fenris was about to draw his hand back when he felt a light squeeze on his fingers. Lucinda’s lips were parted now, breath still coming out in weak puffs. There was a slight moment of hope when his eyes met her face again.

“Stay,” was all she managed to say. Lucinda’s voice was nothing but a whisper, yet she wanted him to know that this was not his fault. She felt relieved when he didn’t let go – instead, he held her with both hands.

Fenris stayed.


	9. Hiding-your-face hug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Darya x Zevran]  
> The events following Harrowmont's coronation left a bitter taste inside Darya's mouth.

Dozens of voices echoed inside the Assembly chamber.

Darya used to visit that place often. Her father, King Endrin Aeducan, would host countless meetings inside the Assembly. It was somewhat entertaining to watch the discussions between deshyrs back then. Darya would wear an amused smirk on her face, sitting beside her dad while sometimes muttering words of advice to him. She had a natural knack for politics, maybe even more than her brothers, and they were often jealous of that.

Funny how time could so easily change things.

Orzammar wasn’t the same any longer. Darya had been exiled and framed for a crime she didn’t commit. The people who respected her in the past were now insulting her — she noticed the side glances as well as whispers behind her back.

It made her angry at first, blood flowing inside her veins just like the lava circling the city. _I will show them_ , she thought over and over. Her anger was lethal yet composed, because every ruler should be able to know the right moment to strike. And so she waited, wearing her smile both as a weapon and a shield from anyone who would try to hurt her.

_No one will see me hurt. I won’t give them this satisfaction._

Darya stared at the fireplace inside her room. She could still hear the faint echoes of people celebrating the King’s coronation at the main hall. She hugged herself, lips pursed together with remorse. Hearing all those people only made her stomach twist and her throat tighten.

Bhelen, her brother, was dead by her own doing.

Someone knocked at the door. Darya snapped her head at the sound, tension quickly building on her shoulders. “Who is it?”

“It’s me.” The sound of Zevran’s voice made her sigh in relief. “Can I come in?”

The door opened with a slight creak after a few seconds. Once he entered the room, Darya was already back to the fireplace, arms crossed defensively around her.

“I’m not in the best mood right now.” She resumed staring at the flames, and even though Zevran couldn’t see her face, he didn’t fail to notice the thickness in her voice. “Maybe you should get back to the celebration.”

“And leave my dear warden confined in her chambers? I don’t think so.” Zevran took one step closer as if asking for permission. Darya didn’t answer straight away, silence following her thoughts. She didn’t need to see him to know that he was concerned. “I would like to be here with you, _amor_.”

She swallowed heavily. Countless tears gathered inside her eyes, and she had been holding them back for hours now, just like she always did. Darya never cried in front of anyone aside from her family. It was a sign of weakness, and her duties required her to be strong at all times. Such was the life of nobility.

“He was… the last one of my family,” Darya muttered. She was struggling to maintain her composure, slow yet shaky breaths coming out of her mouth. “I killed my brother.”

“You did what needed to be done.” Zevran slowly reduced the distance between them with one step at a time. He treaded carefully, giving her the time and space to send him away in case she wanted to. “We can talk if you wish.” 

Darya bit her lower lip. “And if I don’t?”

“Then I can offer you my silent company. Would that suffice?”

Darya remained still, and for a moment she could only hear the sound of flickering flames beneath her. Zevran stood a few inches behind her as he patiently waited for an answer. A small eternity took place until Darya uncrossed her arms.

“Just hold me,” she asked.

And so he did. 

The whole world faded away, replaced by the feeling of Zevran’s arms around her. Darya soon turned her body to hug him back. She held him tightly as if her very life depended on it, hands clutching at his shirt and face buried against his stomach. She felt fingers running through her hair in a comforting way. Zevran held her close as her walls crashed down. Darya remained silent — save from uneven breaths and trembling lips — while tears bursted from her eyes.

It felt different to have someone just being there for her. She was the type to suffer by herself, usually in the dead of night when no one else could find out. But Zevran was there, and he was _real_ , his voice soothing as he whispered words of comfort every once in a while. 

For the first time ever, she wasn’t alone.


	10. Sharing a secret from the past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Lucinda & Varric]  
> A brief talk about the past while having some drinks.

Lucinda shifted on her seat, giving Varric a curious look. She watched as he wrote something on a piece of paper, trying to break down the intricate lines from an upside-down angle. The words seemed to dance around, though — it would be no use doing that after having some drinks. It was easier to give up and just ask instead. **  
**

“Is this for a book?” The cheap booze of the Hanged Man made her slightly more talkative and _considerably_ more straightforward than usual.

Varric let out an amused chuckle, lifting his quill for a second. “I’m not always writing books, Freckles. This is a letter for the Merchants Guild.”

Lucinda rested her face on her palm. She leaned forward in a lazy manner, just like a cat would, until she was half lying on the table. Thanks to the alcohol, her movements were slower than usual. “What did they do this time?”

“In short? Some important guy didn’t show up for meeting, and now the whole Guild is highly offended.” Varric laughed, finding some sort of amusement in that situation. “That’s how things work there. Miss _one_ damnmeeting and everyone starts looking your way like there’s a nug head growing on your shoulder.”

Lucinda snorted. “Are you sure you wanna write this while we’re drinking?”

“Hey, I’m not drunk. In my defense, you’ve had a lot more than me.”

“Can’t disagree on that one,” she mumbled. Her hand reached for the almost empty mug on the table. One sip, and her gaze drifted back to the paper once again. Varric wrote only a few more words before he stopped, this time putting the quill aside. 

“Alright, Freckles, spill it out. You have that look on your face.”

Lucinda raised one questioning brow. “Which means?”

“You’re curious about something,” he stated.

“Hmm,” she hummed thoughtfully. “I must be really obvious when I drink.” She straightened her spine as best as she could before placing both elbows on the table. “Have you ever gave up on finishing a book?”

Straight to the point once again. Of all the questions she could ask, Varric wasn’t expecting that one. He chuckled. “What kind of author would I be if I haven’t?”

“Really?” As someone who read most of his books, Lucinda couldn’t help but feel a little enthusiastic over more details. Her smile grew wider. “What was it about?”

“Well…” Varric gave out a sigh, his gaze drifting away.

The brief moment of silence spoke for itself. His expression wasn’t so cheerful anymore, which meant she probably said something wrong. A sudden wave of soberness crashed against her as she swallowed heavily. 

“It was called ‘The Mercenary’s Price’. To be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone about this before. Anyway…” Varric leaned back on his chair. Memories flashed inside his mind, making his gaze look somewhat distant. “That book was meant for my mother. I used to write so that I could read it to her.”

Lucinda felt her shoulders drop a little. Coming to think of it, Varric had never mentioned his mother in a proper conversation. Her expression softened when she spoke, compassion clear in her tone. “Was she sick?”

Varric nodded. “She had a liver ailment. I thought she would get better after a while. The doctors did, too.” He shrugged lightly. “Turns out she only got worse. I wanted to finish the book while she was still alive, but… you know the rest.” He looked at Lucinda once again, voice low and empty despite his efforts. “I burned the whole thing after.”

She took a deep breath. Reaching for his hand felt like the most natural thing to do. “I’m sorry, Varric.” Light green eyes stared at him, asking for forgiveness. “I shouldn’t have asked that.”

“It’s fine. It was a long time ago,” the dwarf dismissed. “No need to go all soft on me now.”

Lucinda’s lips curved into a bittersweet smile. “At least your mother heard some of your stories. As for mine…” She placed both hands on her lap with a sigh. “I never showed my writing to Leandra. I always felt like she would disapprove of me somehow. We were… not as close as most people assumed. It was complicated.”

Speaking of Leandra was like opening an old wound, one that could never be completely healed. Even when she was alive… they didn’t get along really nicely. Few people were aware of that, but it felt only fair to tell Varric.

Lucinda shook her head in an attempt to drive these thoughts away. “I guess there’s no point dwelling in the past now.”

“Yeah,” Varric agreed. He reached for his mug shortly after. “I think we both deserve a drink. Or two.”

Lucinda’s smile slowly returned to her face. “Now who’s getting drunk?”

“I’m just being the good dwarf sidekick and joining you,” he joked. “Besides, that will make this letter much more interesting.”

She laughed before proceeding to drink a little more. Despite all of her losses, she felt truly glad to have Varric at her side — that was a mutual feeling.


	11. Sleepy hug/hug from behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Marel x Dorian]  
> The Anchor begins to get worse just before the events of Trespasser. Dorian isn't fully aware of it.

The Anchor flashed weakly at first, casting a soft green light over Marel's features. He squinted, tired eyes forced open by the sudden glow in the dark. He stared at the mark on his left palm before holding back an annoyed groan.

Not _again_.

He had become used to losing sleep ever since the Anchor started to grow worse. It began with occasional bursts of light, ones that he managed to ignore for a while. But simply ignoring it was no longer an option once the pulses became more frequent. It only took a few weeks before the pain came, excruciating and intense unlike anything Marel had ever felt. 

For countless times the mark burned deep into his arm as if scorching every single nerve in its way. For countless times he needed to shut his eyes, the bright glow almost strong enough to blind someone. As a reaver Marel was familiar with several types and degrees of pain, and yet even the worst of them felt like child’s play when compared to the Anchor. No, that was something else entirely - something that tortured him to the point of screaming his lungs out.

Marel brought his glowing hand next to his chest, fingers tightly closed in an attempt to dim the light. He could only hope that the mark wouldn’t flash like it usually did. He shifted his neck only enough to look over his shoulder. Dorian was still asleep on the other side of the mattress, his peaceful expression causing Marel’s heart to clench with guilt. _He should know._

Dorian was aware of the Anchor’s unusual behavior - except for the fact that it was slowly killing Marel from inside out.

An unexpected jolt of pain made Marel flinch and return his focus to the mark. It glowed brighter, strands of green light leaking from between his fingers like water finding its way through cracks. He placed his other hand on top of it, biting his lower lip in agonizing silence when the ache started to spread from the center of his palm to his fingers. It burned from inside out, the unbearable feeling quickly expanding to his entire arm. It urged him to scream, and yet Marel resisted with clenched teeth and tears in his eyes. He couldn’t do anything about his ragged breathing, though.

“Amatus?” _Shit._ Just when Marel was about to answer, he was forced to bit his lower lip once more to avoid yelling out loud. A brief taste of copper invaded his mouth, but he ignored it as Dorian moved closer. “Are you alright?”

_I’m dying._

Marel tried to make his breathing a little steadier before he attempted to speak. “Yeah. It’s just--” his eyes went closed shut when another wave of pain hit him. He hissed, voice coming out rougher than expected. “The Anchor. It hurts sometimes." 

Half of Marel's thoughts were filled with a string of elven curses while the other half just hoped, almost desperately, for Dorian not to notice his real situation. How screwed he truly was. Silent tears flowed down his eyes as he stood still against the pain. The greenish glow from the Anchor was now a blurry mess next to his face.

Dorian gently wrapped an arm around Marel's waist. "You're shaking," he muttered with concern in his voice. 

Marel swallowed the lump in his throat, and soon the tension in his muscles was replaced by the familiar feeling of Dorian's body against his own. He allowed himself to relax a little, sinking further into Dorian's warm embrace. His voice sounded a little less worse when he spoke. "I'll be fine, vhenan. Seriously, no need to worry about it."

But the mage was too insistent to simply accept the suggestion. Marel could easily picture him furrowing brows without even needing to see him. "You are a terrible liar, amatus.”

Marel rolled his eyes. “I know.”

“So tell me, is there anything I can do to help?”

“I...” Marel breathed as his mark flared once again, but at least this time the pain became more bearable. It lasted only a couple of seconds before it vanished, the green light completely gone from the room in an instant. He gave a short sigh of relief - _thank the Creators_. “Just stay like that,” he asked.

“Simple enough.” Dorian did as he was told, keeping his hold on Marel’s waist. He pressed his lips against the back of Marel’s shoulder, a tender reminder that he was there for him. “I wouldn’t dream of going anywhere else.”

Marel managed a weak smile. He placed his right hand on top of Dorian’s, giving it a light squeeze. He wasn’t ready to let go, to let _him_ go - hell, he wouldn’t be ready not now or ever. And yet time was running out and he knew it. Tears prickled the back of his eyes once more, now caused by a different kind of pain. Marel pressed himself closer to Dorian, wishing and silently praying to Falon’Din for _just a little longer_.


	12. Giddy hug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Lucinda x Fenris]  
> Small moments of happiness before Inquisition.

There was a grin on her face as she moved, wine-stained lips still carrying a faint taste of alcohol. Her hair, tied in a long braid, waved endlessly around the air in response to her quick steps. The cheerful tavern song seemed to fade in the background as Fenris locked his eyes on hers, unable to contain a soft smile. 

The woman known as the Champion of Kirkwall would never act so carefree in her city. Such title carried many responsibilities and Lucinda wore it like a shield, always mindful of her own behavior — yet things worked differently in Ferelden. It was odd, at first, to walk into small villages without drawing anyone’s attention. The freedom of not being recognized felt strangely good, like a breath of fresh air to a drowning man. They needed that, Fenris thought, and seeing the blatant happiness on Lucinda’s face only proved that he was right.

She approached his table and offered one hand in invitation. "Won’t you dance with me?“ 

"I am not a good dancer,” Fenris dismissed. “You will likely be disappointed.”

“Only if you refuse,” she teased. The next song had a slower pace and Lucinda soon noticed some couples gathering to dance in the center of the tavern. She looked back at him with expectant eyes. “Just one song?”

The near firelight made it easier to spot the tiny sea of freckles on her face, each of them contrasting against pale skin. Her impossibly light green eyes were the hue of trees surrounded by a morning fog, bright and beautiful. Fenris pondered for a moment — although deep down he knew the answer from the very beginning. His hand reached for hers as if by instinct, earning him a joyful smile as Lucinda headed towards an empty space between two tables. 

“I hope I’m not too drunk for this,” she said with arms wrapped around his neck.

Fenris slowly moved with her, hands carefully holding her waist. “You did fine by yourself a moment ago,” he stated.

Lucinda kept her gaze down in hopes to perform the right steps. She wasn’t necessarily drunk, yet her mind was still rather clouded by a couple chalices of wine. “Yes, well, I didn’t have to think about stepping on your feet before.” She glanced at him upon realizing the confusion of her own words. “I mean— I don’t want to do that,” she corrected.

Fenris smiled. “I know.” A couple more steps until an amusing thought crossed his mind. “Perhaps you should follow my lead instead.”

“Didn’t you just say-” A surprised gasp left Lucinda’s lips when he leaned forward to dip her, body bending backwards in response. She wasn’t afraid of falling, however, and trusted him not to let go. Such unexpected movement brought her feel butterflies as they stared into each other’s eyes, lips sharing the same grin. 

“Consider me _astounded_ ,” Lucinda said upon returning to her previous position. “Can we do something else?”

“That depends on how sober you are,” he joked.

She shrugged lightly. “I’ll take my chances.”

Of course she would say that. Fenris took a step back, moving away so that he could hold her by the hand instead. Lucinda proceeded to turn around — except she did that a little too quickly for her feet to follow. It took one clumsy step to make the tavern spin right before her eyes, and there was barely any time to realize she was falling before she landed against Fenris’ chest, his arms holding her in place once again.

“Are you alright?” There was worry in his voice, but it was soon eased by the sound of her laughter.

“Yes.” Lucinda snuggled closer for a hug, resting her chin on Fenris’ shoulder. That silly smile was still present on her lips. “Can’t say the same about my dignity though." 

His chest heaved a bit when he let out a low laugh. An actual laugh, and it felt deliciously warm and far more welcoming than any home she ever had. She couldn’t quite describe it, but each time Fenris laughed was a moment to be treasured – something she would never get enough of. 

And so Lucinda continued to search for such moments through the night, a wide grin taking over her face everytime she managed to succeed.


	13. OC scolding LI (LI loves it)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Marel x Dorian]  
> In which Dorian appears to be getting sick and Marel scolds him.

“I told you to wear a coat or something,” Marel rolled his eyes. “You’ve been sneezing all day long.”

“Well it’s not my fault this place is _freezing_ ,” Dorian complained.

To say Emprise du Lion was cold was a severe understatement. No amount of bitter words would be enough to describe that Maker forsaken place. Dorian hated everything in there, from red templars up to the terrible geography that made walking so difficult. Thick layers of snow covered everything as far as the eye could see, but the worst part was dealing with the icy wind that seemed to freeze every inch of his body. At some point Dorian was half expecting for his nose to shatter in a million pieces, as if it belonged to an ice statue instead of a human being.

They sat next to one another by the campfire. Flames flickered madly in the chill air, struggling to remain lit against the harsh breeze. It took one more sneeze to make Marel stood up at once.

“Okay, enough with this shit.” He said, hands quickly unbuttoning his fur coat. “You’re putting this on.”

“Amatus-”

“Don’t,” Marel scolded. “I don’t want you to get sick but apparently you haven’t been listening to me.” He took off his coat, putting it around Dorian’s shoulders with one swift motion. Then he impatiently stared at the silver eyes before him. “You’re really stubborn, know that?”

Marel wasn’t mad, not truly at least. Concerned and maybe frustrated would be the right words to describe his feelings. Dorian accepted the coat with a small smile on his lips. “It’s one of my charms, I’ve been told.”

The elf sat by his side once again. Despite Dorian’s attempt to jest, Marel wasn’t done with him yet. “You also need to eat properly. I know the soup in here tastes like halla piss but it’s the only thing we’ve got. Just so you know, I’m not carrying you out of here if-” Marel stopped once he noticed the way Dorian looked at him. He frowned in confusion. “What?”

“Do go on, amatus,” he dismissed with an amused tone. “It’s adorable to see you so concerned.”

 _Fenhedis._ Marel sighed heavily, unable to keep the heat from growing in his cheeks. Unexpected flirting always seemed to throw him off balance and Dorian _knew_ that. “I’m serious,” he groaned before leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees.

“I know.” Dorian reached for his hand, and it took only a second before Marel relented to that. Entwining their fingers felt so natural that neither of them needed to think before doing it. They were closer now, shoulders bumping into one another. “It’s just that I’m always the one scolding you. Quite the turn of events, isn’t it?”

Marel often deserved all the scolding in Thedas for multiple reasons. He was well aware of it, but that didn’t stop him from elbowing Dorian. “Sometimes you deserve it too.”

The mage pondered, clutching the warm coat against his chest with his free hand. Maybe he did deserve it. Only a little bit.


	14. University AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Marel x Dorian]  
> Based on the prompt: "you live above me and I’m going to murder you if you don’t stop throwing parties Sunday night."

It had been only three weeks ever since someone moved into the room above his own. Not even a _full month_ and this person, whoever it was, had already managed to turn his weekends into shit. Marel threw the pillow over his head in an attempt to hush the damn noise coming from above. No matter what he did - whether it was putting on headphones or even bumping the ceiling with a broom - nothing could change the fact that sleeping on Sunday nights felt like an impossible task to do.

“Hey, pissbag!” Sera, his roommate, yelled from the upper half of their bunk bed. “We’re friggin’ trying to sleep here!”

Marel’s voice came out like a muffled grumble from under the pillow. “They can’t hear you.”

“ _Ugh_ ,” she groaned in frustration. Sera stared at the ceiling for a moment, considering. “We should really prank that guy. Bet he couldn’t do any parties that way.”

Marel took the pillow off his head with a frown. “You know who’s up there?”

“One of the popular ones,” she shrugged. “His dad is rich or something. Bet they’re both asses.”

“What’s his name?”

“Dorian, I guess. Pff, you really don’t know shit about him.”

“How should I-” Just when Marel began to answer, the roaring sound of music somehow became even louder. The beats thumped incessantly in his ears, loud enough to make him feel like the room was goddamn shaking. Marel tightened his fists. “You know what- fuck this.”

Sera sticked her head off the upper mattress once she heard the sound of footsteps in the dark. She quickly caught the sight of Marel reaching for the doorknob. “Tell him to piss off for me, yeah?”

He glanced at her before opening the door. “Gladly.”

Marel let out an annoyed groan as soon as he walked outside the room. He didn’t bother to change his flannel sweatpants nor the oversized shirt that he wore for sleep. Hell, he didn’t even bother to put some slippers on because he was pretty sure it was at least 2am and he just wanted to _sleep_. Marel crossed the corridor easily enough even while in the dark. He only used his phone light to go up the stairs, putting it back into his pocket as soon as he got there.

It didn’t take long for Marel to find what he looked for. The room just above his own had plenty of colorful lights leaking from underneath its door. The noise was somehow even worse on the second floor, which made Marel wonder why the heck no one else had complained about it yet. He approached the room with furrowed brows and knocked.

But no one answered. _Fucking Creators._ Marel took a deep breath before closing his fist tighter to knock once again, hitting the wood with more force. He was already counting the seconds for the third knock, and _gods help him_ if no one listened this time–

The door suddenly creaked open, revealing a flash of colorful light that felt utterly blinding in contrast to the dark corridor. Marel instantly winced in response, raising one hand to his eye level to block some of the brightness towards his face.

The man who answered the door was impeccably dressed. His dark purple shirt was a perfect fit for his body without being too tight, and the fact that he had at least one button undone was distracting to say the least. His black pants looked expensive as well as his shoes - in fact, his entire outfit looked like something worthy of a movie star. But his clothes alone were not the reason why Marel went speechless for a second.

He never expected that guy to be so damn handsome, for fuck’s sake. Marel simply found himself unable to look away from his face, swallowing.

“Well? Can I help you?” The stranger asked, arching one dark brow at him.

Marel cursed at himself for feeling his cheeks growing hotter by the second. “You’re making too much noise,“ he finally said. "It’s pissing me off.”

“Truly?” The man asked in what appeared to be genuine surprise.

Marel frowned. “You seriously thought that no one would hear this shit?”

“Who’s there, Dorian?” A female voice came from inside the room.

Dorian looked over his shoulder, still holding the door half open. “It’s only an unexpected guest, Mae. I’ll be back in a moment.” Just when he was about to step out, he added: “Oh, and turn the music down, will you? We so happen to be bothering our neighbors.”

And with that he looked at Marel once again. “Well then. Do you have a minute?”

Marel took a second to realize that he was still standing in the doorway. He stepped back with a confused expression, not bothering to say anything.

The stranger turned the corridor lights on as soon as he stepped out of the room. “Let’s start again, shall we?”

Now that they could properly see each other, Marel couldn’t help but stare into the stormy grey eyes ahead of him. Something about those eyes seemed to pull him in, and Marel swallowed silently once he realized that guy was not only handsome - he was fucking _breathtaking_. 

Marel slipped his hands into his pockets, once more muttering silent curses to himself. “I’m not exactly here to chat.”

“I know, which is why I’ll make things brief.” Dorian managed a small smile that lifted the edges of his moustache just a bit. “Truth be told, I was quite sure that my room had soundproof walls until this very moment. I did ask for it before moving here.”

“Really? A soundproof room?” Marel scoffed. “You realize clubs are a thing, right?”

Hearing that made him frown slightly. “If only things were that simple.” There was a hint of resentment in his tone, Marel noticed, but it soon faded away with a small shook of his head. “In any case, I owe you my apologies. I had no clue I was bothering other people.”

It was becoming increasingly harder to stay mad at Dorian, mostly because his words sounded pretty honest. Still, the fact that no one even thought to knock at his door for _three weeks_ made Marel intrigued. “So no one else came here to complain before me?”

“You are the first one. Shocking, isn’t it?” Dorian crossed his arms while casually leaning against the wall. “The other students - I assume they are most likely to be afraid of my father. How foolish of them,” he waved dismissingly. “But now that I’ve mentioned it…” He looked at Marel again with a certain curiosity in his gaze. “You don’t happen to know who I am, do you?”

Marel shrugged. “My roommate said you are a rich guy named Dorian.” A pause. “By the way, she told you to piss off.”

Somehow the comment made Dorian chuckle humorously. “She’s not entirely wrong, I’m afraid. It seems I should apologize to her as well.”

Marel couldn’t help a small smile at that. “You probably should. Wouldn’t want to see her angry,” he suggested.

“What about you?” Dorian asked, looking at Marel up and down in an attempt to recognize him. “I don’t recall seeing you around. What is your name?”

Somehow Marel had managed to completely forget that he was still in his pajamas up until that moment. He was probably looking like a clown with his red flannel sweatpants and old blue shirt. Hell, he didn’t even need to see his reflection to know that his undercut was a complete mess too. In the meantime Dorian looked dashing in every possible way, which made him feel more than just a little self conscious.

He glanced down for a moment while wishing to bury his head on the ground. “I’m Marel,” he muttered.

“Marel? I believe I’ve heard some things about you.” That earned him a questioning look, one that made Dorian chuckle once more. “But don’t worry. I’m not one to believe in mindless gossip.”

Being aware of his own reputation, Marel almost sighed in relief after knowing that Dorian didn’t care for any of that. People often thought of him as a troublemaker for numerous reasons, up to the point that he was already used to it by now. Still, it felt refreshing not to be judged at first sight.

“Me neither.” The music had already stopped by then, leaving the two of them in silence. Marel took his hands off his pockets. “I… think I should get back to sleep.”

Dorian nodded. “Naturally.” He watched for a moment as Marel began to walk his way to the stairs. “Oh, and Marel?”

Marel looked back at him, stopping when he was just about to step down. “What?”

“Do feel free to stop by if you ever want to have a few drinks.” Dorian smiled as he opened the door. “You should invite your roommate as well - I hear vodka is a wonderful way to apologize.”

The corners of his mouth involuntarily twitched into a smile. Marel let out a breathless chuckle, glad to be far away so that Dorian couldn’t see him blush. “I’ll see you around, Dorian.”

The lights were on when Marel returned to his room. Sera didn’t even wait for him to properly enter before practically leaping at his direction. “The music stopped. Just- _stopped_! How did you do that?” She questioned, eyeing him suspiciously for a second. “Did you find that Dori-whatever?”

“Yeah.” Marel closed the door, not minding the way she interrogated him. “Turns out he’s not an ass.”

“Really?” Sera asked, stepping away to allow him to move towards his bed. “Because he looked like richy-ass type to me.”

There was a slight creak of wood when Marel laid on his bed. He turned his body to face the wall. “He said that I- _we_ ,” he quickly corrected, “could join him for a drink sometime.”

It didn’t take long before Sera had a mischievous grin on her face. “ _Ohhh_.” That made him roll his eyes. “You think he’s hot, innit?”

She giggled when Marel threw a pillow in her direction, dodging it with ease. “Missed it, dumbass.” She didn’t need to see his face to know that he was embarrassed.

“Go get some sleep,” Marel grumbled.

“Alright, but only because it’s hella late.” Sera turned the lights off and proceeded to effortlessly hop into the upper bed. A moment of silence went by before she spoke again. “Try not to dream of him, yeah?”

Marel groaned. “For fuck’s sake, Sera-”

She giggled one last time before finally falling asleep.


End file.
